


Day Five: Peony

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Peggysous Week 2020 [5]
Category: Agent Carter (Marvel Short Film), Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Daniel Sousa, Bisexual Peggy Carter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Peony: Honor, especially for people who are bringing honor to their entire family through success, wealth and riches, romance and romantic love, with a particular focus on love between two strangers, beauty in all forms.Bashfulness and shame.***It’s not easy being different in the 1940s, even more so when one’s business is buried in government secrecy and shadow. Sometimes, late at night, one only needs a small desk lamp to breathe a little easier. And company never hurts.
Relationships: Past Daniel Sousa/Original Character(s), Past Peggy Carter/Original Female Character(s), Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Series: Peggysous Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857973
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: Peggysous Week 2020





	Day Five: Peony

**Author's Note:**

> misery loves company

Secrets live in the cold. In dark corners and at the bottom of whiskey glasses. 

The New York office is always lit, by the lights inside and the bustle of the city out the windows. The SSR hid its secrets behind cheerful telephone girls and men in suits that blended in with the New York crowd. The secrets hid in dark filing cabinets and desk drawers. At night, the building slept as much as it could, holding its secrets in its belly. 

Those that worked night shifts learned to step lightly, keep moving, lest they be caught in the web of secrets and drowned. 

Daniel knew how to walk the thin lines of light during night shifts, staying at his desk with the bright glow of the lamp, bent over paperwork, following the patches of light down the hallways when he needed to, never staying too long in the dark. Secrets hid there, grasping, reaching, desperate to struggle out into the horrid light and flourish. It was easy with the others, to guide them through the dark, away from the temptation of the calling shadows. It was easy to let the darkness open your mouth, pull it from within you, because once you started talking it was hard to stop. When he couldn’t help them out of the dark, he made sure to keep the bottles away from them. More secrets lay buried in its liquidy depths, ready to fill lungs and drown hearts. They worked. Until the light came up and the secrets retreated before shame could bathe them in sorrow. 

But nothing can stay in the dark of one’s chest forever. The SSR was designed for keeping secrets; a few more, whispered in the dead of night, were no big strain. Letting out a secret and dodging the shame was a learned skill. 

Daniel received plenty of opportunities to practice. 

First it was in the darkness of a confessional, the ancient wood creaking every single time he shifted his weight. He whispered the truth that ached in his chest and received nothing but pitying looks and advice that didn’t help. He kept trying, pleading that it would be _fixed_ , that he’d been _good_ , hadn’t he? He wasn’t sick. He _wasn’t_. 

Second it was in the dark of night overseas, surrounded by his brothers in arms and not letting himself move an inch for fear that he would make them sick too. It was whispered confessions into the ear of another man, murmured sobs as they were torn apart, stifled screams that he’d paid, he paid with his heart, with his leg, wasn’t this _enough_? Hadn’t he enough reason for shame now?

Third was the first night shift, before he learned how to walk along the thin fingers of light in the office. Here he was, in the palm of the society that would see him crushed for his secrets, drown him in his own shame, what was he doing here? He worked to uncover secrets, how long would it be before someone found his? The office, its belly stuffed full with secrets, growled for more. 

The secret whispered to him with the promise of protection, if he told, it would keep him safe from shame. An empty promise. 

It hurt. It always hurt. 

Daniel didn’t want anymore empty advice that wouldn’t help. He’d tried. He’d pleaded. He’d prayed. 

They took his leg. They took his heart. They took his trust. 

She gave it back. 

Peggy didn’t blend in with the cheerful phone girls, nor did she mix in effortlessly with the crowd of suits that walked the streets of New York. Peggy marched, yes, but she marched to the beat of her own drum. She was an army, all by herself. She shone lights onto all the dark corners, sending secrets scurrying for cover. But with the light comes the shame, glowing for all to see. 

Daniel would willingly burn in the light of Peggy Carter, but the shame for this secret may burn him up. 

Peggy didn’t cover the night shifts very often, something the Chief said about making a lady work late. But he wasn’t always able to fight Peggy over everything, and when one of the guys begged off, he let her cover. 

Peggy didn’t need to be taught how to stick to the light. So Daniel bent obediently over his own desk and worked, feeling the warmth of the light of Peggy’s desk behind him. He was prepared to fight the cold. He wasn’t prepared to fight the warmth. 

Peggy, so formidable during the day, around the others, softened ever so slightly at night. When it was just them, it was easier. Peggy would laugh or groan sympathetically when Daniel muttered about how awful these reports were, or how unorganized everyone else’s filing was. Daniel would be startled, laughing when Peggy cursed a blue streak at someone’s particularly idiotic excuse for something. They made games out of it, who could read out the most ludicrous file in the best impression of the culprit’s voice. Daniel may not be as mature as he thought: Peggy’s Agent Krzeminski lays him out, hunched over the edge of his desk, panting after two minutes, calling for mercy. In the best way, she gives him none, throwing in an imitation of his walk at the end. 

Secrets live in the cold and Daniel’s chest is melting. 

It’s been a hard few weeks. They’ve been chasing a killer that doesn’t leave much behind. The suspects have no correlation. Different ages, men and women, rich, poor, white, colored, no relationship. 

Well…

Peggy sits back. Daniel frowns at her frustrated sigh, turning around to see her stand up and stalk towards Dooley’s office. His eyes widen when she reemerges with a bottle of whiskey—good whiskey—and two glasses. His mouth drops open when she pours herself two fingers and knocks it back without even wincing. 

“Oh, what?” Peggy stares at him. “Don’t act like you’ve never seen that before.”

“Haven’t actually,” Daniel confesses, “not since—“

He doesn’t quite slap a hand over his own mouth but the damage is done. The ice has cracked. He didn’t even realize it was this bad. 

Peggy stares at him, concerned, until he shakes his head and gestures to her. “So, why the sudden interest in the Chief’s whiskey? Wait, how’d you even know it was there?”

Peggy just gives him a look that says ‘are you really surprised?’ He’s not. Not really. 

“I think I’ve figured out the link between the suspects,” she says instead, leaning back against her desk and pouring herself another generous portion, raising an eyebrow at him. 

Daniel nods, taking the other glass from her. He swirls it anxiously around the bottom of the glass, watching the amber liquid with its empty promise gleam and glimmer in the light. He takes a deep breath. 

“What is it?”

“There is a rumor,” Peggy murmurs softly in the dim light of the night office, “that has followed every single one of these victims.”

Something about the way she’s speaking and the weight of the glass in Daniel’s hand makes him think he’s not gonna like it.

Peggy takes another sip from her glass. Yeah, if it’s making Peggy Carter look like _this_ , he’s definitely not going to like it. 

The office holds its breath, belly bloated. 

“They’ve all been accused of homosexuality.”

The light burns. 

Daniel’s head spins. _They know, they know, this is it, they’re going to find you, you’re going to—shame, shame, burning shame—Peggy? Does Peggy know?—leg, heart, life, you’ve lost your leg, your heart, now your life—_

He takes a swig of the whiskey and it burns. He swallows the secrets in his throat and weakly asks Peggy to repeat it. 

“Every single one of them,” Peggy murmurs again, Daniel too preoccupied with a spinning head to notice her hand trembling. 

They knock back their glasses near simultaneously, catching the other as they lower theirs. They each huff a slightly sheepish laugh, before Peggy holds out the bottle and they refill. 

The office waits, the lamplight providing a ticking clock, encouraged by the alcohol slowly filling their bellies. 

“What do we do,” Daniel mumbles finally, “what do we _do_?”

Peggy looks at him sharply. “We catch them.”

“But…” Daniel flounders, shame and hope warring in his chest. “It’s…how…it’s illegal.”

“Daniel Sousa,” Peggy says, “you’d better clarify what you are referring to as illegal right this instant, or I’m about to have a word with you.”

Daniel raises his head slowly, looking up at Peggy. He swallows, setting his glass aside. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

He doesn't want to lie to Peggy Carter. 

But he doesn’t know what to say. 

He wants to believe he isn’t sick. 

He wants to believe he has no reason for shame, at least not _this_ shame. 

But…

“When I was in the war,” he says finally, letting the secret start to spill out of him, “there was a man I fought with. He…he was…I…”

_ No going back now.  _

“I loved him,” Daniel blurts out, the fear and shame making his tongue clumsy, “I—I loved him.”

Peggy is silent in front of him. 

Daniel swallows the shame burning in his throat but it lodges in the space when his chin meets his neck and pinches, weighing his tongue down like a weight. But the secret makes his mouth move. 

“I lost him the same day I lost my leg,” he whispers. 

“Oh, Daniel,” Peggy’s voice comes from above him, “I’m so sorry.” 

Her hand rests on his shoulder and he shakes his head. Her light will—the shame—it will—

His awareness snaps to her hand when it trembles. He raises his head slowly, squinting when he sees her face. She’s…her…she looks…afraid?

He licks his lips, mouth run dry. “Peggy?”

“I…” It’s her turn to swallow heavily, reaching for her own glass. She leans against her desk, curling in on herself. It’s not quite his level of fear, but any sort of fear on Peggy Carter is enough to make him sit up and lean forward. 

“…her name was Abigail,” Peggy murmurs softly, her eyes still fixed on her glass. 

_Oh_. 

Daniel’s heart stops. Oh, Peggy…oh, oh, God, what the hell does this mean now?

Judging by Peggy’s expression, she’s got no idea what to do next anymore than he does. Well, except to raise his glass in a toast. 

“To them,” he murmurs. 

She raises hers. “To them.” 

They drain their glasses. Peggy taps her finger idly against the rim. “I would quite like to be just about anywhere else in the world right now.”

Daniel huffs. “Yeah. Me too.”

A clock ticks above Dooley’s door. 

“Tell you what,” Daniel says, reaching for the bottle, “since we’re gonna pretend tonight isn’t happening—at least I am, I’m gonna have another drink.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Peggy sits on her desk and nurses the whiskey. Daniel turns in his chair. Then Peggy looks at him. 

“If we’re pretending this night doesn’t exist,” she says quietly, “what was his name?”

Daniel’s hand trembles on the glass. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Peggy says quickly. 

Daniel shakes his head. “Paul,” he says, “his name was Paul.”

“I wish I could’ve met him,” Peggy murmurs quietly. 

Daniel frowns. “What?”

Peggy gestures to him with her glass, a sad smile on her face. “I’d like to meet the man who captured the heart of Daniel Sousa.”

His eyes widen and he chuckles nervously. “Uh…why?”

Peggy leans back onto one hand, her hair falling over her shoulder as she moves. “Unlike all the others in this office, I’ve never once heard you talk about yourself. You’re an expert in saying nothing.”

“I’m a spy,” Daniel says weakly, “aren’t I supposed to be?”

“Fair,” Peggy says, “but you can’t blame me for being curious, can you?”

Her mouth curls up into a teasing smirk, but her eyes are soft. If he wants her to stop, she will. Daniel sighs. _She’s_ made him curious too. 

“He would’ve liked you,” he says quietly, “he was…soft in a way that most soldiers aren’t. He still laughed, smiled, joked, and not the crass army jokes, either. He…he still believed.”

“In what?”

“In the good of the people,” Daniel mutters, “that’s what he told me before…”

Peggy slides off her desk, coming to perch on the end of Daniel’s. “…before…?”

“Bastogne.”

Peggy’s mouth makes a small ‘oh.’ Her hand lands on Daniel’s again, warm to the touch. He leans into it, and it doesn’t hurt. 

He doesn’t feel ashamed, not here. Not with Peggy. 

Not with another. 

“Who was Abigail,” he asks quietly, reaching for his glass again, “if you wanna tell me?”

“She was a nurse,” Peggy says, “in the SOE. She was lovely.”

“Also wish I coulda met her,” Daniel murmurs, “if Captain America could turn your head, wonder what she was like.”

The _second_ it comes out of his mouth he winces. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, ah, jeez—“ he pinches the bridge of his nose— “I’m such an idiot.”

“It’s fine, Daniel,” Peggy says with just the barest tinge of amusement, “I know. If it’s any consolation, that was a better apology than I’ve received from anyone else here.”

“I shouldn’t’ve said it,” Daniel says, “and I’m sorry. I do wish I could’ve met her, though. She sounds great.”

“She’d’ve like you,” Peggy says, tapping his shoulder to let him know he’s been forgiven, “well, as much as she could’ve.”

“Because…?”

“Because she only liked women,” Peggy explains quietly, “not both.”

_Both_. 

“I…” Daniel swallows, the last bit of the secret lingering on the top of his tongue. “…both?”

Peggy looks down at him, a soft smile touching the corners of her mouth. 

“I think the word is ‘bisexual,’ Daniel,” she says quietly, “at least it was the last time I checked.”

‘Last time I checked,’ Daniel mouths, the shame evaporating. Peggy glances away. 

“I don’t want to pretend this night didn’t happen anymore.”

Daniel’s heart drops like a stone. “You—you don’t?”

Peggy shakes her head, looking back at him. “Because that would mean I’ve never talked to anyone about Abigail. It would mean we didn’t find a lead—“

“You found that lead.”

Peggy accepts his correction with a nod. “…and it would mean I didn’t…find another like me.”

She looks at him apprehensively. “You…you are like me, aren’t you?”

Moment of truth. Daniel nods.

Peggy smiles wider. 

“You too?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel splutters, “I, um, yeah…me too.”

Peggy clinks their glasses together. “Welcome to the club.”

“Glad to be here.”

The office rumbles happily, belly nice and full. Secrets are the SSR’s business, after all, and god knows these two can keep them. 


End file.
